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Description
The oven was preheated. The ingredients were prepared and added and mixed. Heather covered her dinner with aluminum foil and slid it into the oven. She closed the door. She set the timer for thirty minutes.

A knock rattled her door.

She looked through the peephole. A delivery driver was holding a package and a signature tablet. She opened the door, signed for the small box, and stepped into her living room with it.

”Let’s see…Division Labs? Oh, right! This got here fast!”

Heather cut open the box and dug through the bubble wrap. There it was; a jar of morphing oil. The label denoted it to be candlewax. She glanced at her oven timer. She had plenty of time to use this before her dinner would cook.

She sat down at the table and read the instructions on the label. After rereading them, she got up. She rummaged through her kitchen drawers and grabbed a few things from her bathroom. She set them all down in a somewhat haphazard pile next to her jar of oil. A vanity mirror, a few makeup brushes of various sizes, a hair tie, a couple of hair clips, a washcloth, a lighter, and her largest kitchen knife were sorted and arranged before her.

Heather adjusted the mirror until her neck was visibly centered in its reflection. She tied up her hair into a tight bun with the hair tie. She opened the jar. She grabbed her widest brush and dipped it liberally into the oil. She lathered the oil across her neck with the brush. She dipped and applied, dipped and applied, coating the circumference of her neck in a thick band over and over. After a few minutes of applications, her neck still didn’t feel wet. She tried to tilt her head to get a better look in the mirror, but her neck felt rigid and didn’t flex. Heather tilted back to see her neck in the mirror. The skin looked waxy; the oil did its job.

Heather smiled and wiped the brush on the lip of the jar, then set it on the washcloth. It was hard to look around when her neck wouldn’t turn or tilt. Her torso bent forward for her to see where the chef’s knife was.

”Now that my whole neck is candlewax, I should be able to cut through it,” she repeated to herself. “As long as the instructions are right, anyways.”

She moved her mirror again. Satisfied with her viewing angle, she picked up her knife. She held the edge to her neck and pressed the sharp edge to the middle of the waxed band of skin. There was no pain or pressure, even as she began to carve back and forth into the side of her neck. There were no sensations in her neck, even as the knife slid deeper into her body, even as she saw it slide further through her neck with each motion of the blade.

Almost perfectly halfway from the left side of her neck, she felt the blade hit something different. Heather pulled the knife out and looked at herself in the mirror. She could see through the visible gap in half of her neck to the wall behind her. But right where the gap stopped in the center of her neck was a black spot.

“Huh? What is…ooooh, that’s the wick of the candle!” Heather giggled. She lifted the knife again and notched it into her neck gap. This time, she carved away the waxed flesh around the wick from the front…then the right side…and grabbed her bun of hair with her free hand to keep her head steady as she sliced away the last bit of the back of her neck, leaving the black wick as the sole connection between her head and her body.

Heather set the knife down on the table. She stared at her nearly cleaved neck with her mirror. She slowly let go of her hair bun. Her head tilted to the side, then rolled forward in a gentle wobble. The waxed edges of her head and neck met in a single point, tilted to touch by the wick in the center that still connected them. As she barely moved, her head wobbled on her stump, not unlike a coin that wobbled on the table before it stopped spinning altogether. She laughed at herself.

“This is pretty funny,” she snarked. She intentionally shook her body. Her head rapidly gyrated. She stopped her head in both hands. “Ugh, woo, no, dizzy, too dizzy. Alright, almost done. Just need scissors.”

Heather got up. She kept a tight grip on her hair bun as she searched her kitchen drawers. Soon enough, she was back at the mirror. A simple slide put the open edges of the scissors around the highest visible point of the black wick. A few committed clenches snipped through the wick. The severed strand left Heather’s head to sway in the air from her hand-held hair.

”Ahh! Ooo-kay, woo, heheh, yes!” She set the scissors down and held her head in both hands. Heather carefully turned her head to face her body. “Oh that’s so cool.”

She was looking at her own neck stump. It was an odd but satisfying sight. Her head was obviously not there. The flat surface had the same waxed sheen as the sides of her neck. In the middle was a rope; the wick of what was now her candle neck. Heather lowered her head slowly until her hands bumped the table, then she set her head down. All she could see was her own chest, inches from her face.

”Where is the lighter? I didn’t do all of this to not light the wick!” She considered turning her head around to see where the lighter was, but realized she’d have to turn it back to see her neck to light the wick. She instead leaned forward to blindly pat down the table behind her head. Her breasts bumped into her face. Heather giggled again. She wrapped one arm behind her head and hugged her head until it was shoved between her tits and held it there while sounding out muffled laughter. She used her free hand to search the table, eventually finding the lighter.

Heather moved her head back to see her headless self clearly. She reached up to her neck. She flicked the lighter to life and held the flame to the wick. In a few seconds, the flame caught. She extinguished the lighter and stared at her candle neck. The flame burned red and flickered. She didn’t feel the heat on her neck at all. She raised a hand to the flame. “Ouch!” It was real fire, alright.

[BEEBEEBEEBEEEP! BEEBEEBEEBEEP!]

The timer for her food sounded off. She considered picking up her head, but settled on turning it on the table to face her oven. She stood her body up and walked to her kitchen. She watched and felt herself wobble. Maintaining her balance was not too difficult, but not easy. She shut off the alarm (after some struggle finding it on the counter), put on oven mitts, and got to work on removing her food.

Heather was having fun with her decapitation. She stared at her lit neck and posed for her head like a model as her food cooled. She moved her head to see what she was doing when she cut out part of her finished casserole, then moved herself back to the table to feed her head. She watched as melted wax pooled under the wick. She tilted forward; the wax flowed down her neck to the swell of her breasts. After eating, she carried her head in the crook of her arm. She walked about her home and scouted places to put her head down that would let her see her body in many places.

She didn’t know how long she wandered before seeing her food out on the counter. “Oh shoot, I have to put that away.” As she walked her body away from her head to handle covering the casserole, she notice something about her neck. It was shorter than before, surely. The flame had actually burned away quite a bit of her waxed neck.

”Huh. I wonder if that will come back on its own? I don’t remember what the instructions said. I should take another look at that.”

Heather’s body put the casserole in the fridge and closed the door. She stood up straight and waited. She was wondering what to do next. She patiently stood, wondering when her head would direct her to do something else. Curiously, she could feel some heat at the center of her neck stump.

Heather stared at her body. She wanted to walk back to her head and read the label for the oil again, but her headless body wasn’t responding to her. “Uh…why can’t I feel my body anymore?”

Headless Heather felt the fire on her wick go from warm to searing hot. She quickly swatted at the wick and smacked it. The flame blew out. She rubbed a finger and thumb together, spreading melted wax on her hand. [“can’t…see myself…”], she mused. She raised her hands until they found something she could recognize by touch.

Heather’s head watched her beheaded body act on her own. “I hope I’m still smart enough to come get me.” She bit her lower lip as she watched and hoped.

With slow pace and clumsy limbs, the decapitated Heather managed to find her way blindly out of the kitchen and back to the table. [“my head…is it still…”], she thought, patting down the table full of the items she needed to cut her head off. Her hands bumped into something. It had hair.

Heather closed her eyes as her body picked her up. She felt her hands, far removed from her control, rotate her. After nearly dropping her, Heather felt her body lower her stump onto something, lift, and lower it again. She opened her eyes and realized her body was trying to put her head back on her neck with no success.

[“not working…won’t stay…my head is…useless now”], Heather thought. She lowered her severed head and hugged it between her breasts with one arm.

”Mmm? Mhmhmmm? HMMHMMHM?!” Heather was smothered face-first in her own chest. She felt her breasts jiggle around her head as her body started to stumble around without her guidance. She barely heard the steps her body made, or whatever other noises she made as she moved and rummaged one-handed around her home.

[“might as well…make the most…of this thing”], headless Heather decided. It took some work, but she eventually had a large bowl set on the supply table. She let her head fall from her breasts to her hands, then dropped it into the bowl.

”Ow! Hey, what are you doing with me? Hello?!” She watched as her body shuffled off to the kitchen again. When she returned to her limited field of view, Heather saw she was wearing the rubber gloves she used to wash dishes. “I wish I knew what the heck you were thinking!”

[“don’t want…wax hands”], she thought. Beheaded Heather found the jar of candle oil. She lifted it over her severed head and poured the entire jar onto it. It flowed around her head and pooled in the bowl.

”HEY WHAT ARMMMM!? MMMM??? HHMMM!!!” Heather closed her mouth and eyes as the oil cascaded down her face. She heard the jar clink onto the table. She felt her gloved hands grab her and start rolling her head in the bowl. Oil coated every part of her. In rapid moments, she felt her soft cheeks and her eyelids go rigid. In moments, her whole head felt static. Her eyes and mouth wouldn’t open. After some time tumbling and rolling in the bowl, all sensations faded away. By the time she was lifted out of the bowl, even her thoughts had disappeared. Her head was transformed into an object of wax.

Heather set her former head down on the table and pulled off her gloves. She ran her hands all over the massive candle in search of the wick. [“no wick…wait…need to cut…to reveal it”] She grabbed the knife. She fumbled for a while to get her head into a good position for carving. After basically scalping the top of her candle head, she finally had a good piece of wick sticking out of the top.

[“Time to…put it somewhere…nice…”], Heather thought. She found her lighter and a plate. She scooped up her inanimate head. Her lack of a head only slowed her down from finding one of the spots she had scouted for her head less than an hour ago. She put her head on the plate and set it down on top of a bookshelf in her living room. She pulled out the lighter and lit the wick on her head. After several seconds, she realized she couldn’t see if it lit or not. She let the lighter turn off, then cautiously brought her hand close to where the flame should be. She felt heat radiating near her fingertips.

[“Good…it’s lit…very nice”]

Heather relaxed and stood there for a solid ten minutes without a care or a head in the world. Melted wax began collecting on top of her head candle and slowly spilled a stream of it to roll down her wax face. She walked away without an aim or a goal or a head, simply moving around without a sound or sight to guide or influence her.

Three hours later, with her head reduced to a disk of hard wax in a pool of melted wax, the candle would burn out. Heather took no notice. She was busy on the couch mindlessly massaging her tits. Her headless body was content with the warm feelings it gave her and wanted for nothing else.

The long-forgotten jar remained on the table. It’s warning label remained unheeded. Sure, the melted wax from her head was all on the plate, but the wax from her neck that flowed down her chest ages ago had long been rubbed off and flaked away by Heather’s incessant groping. Maybe she would be lucky and the magic would still work to bring the pieces back together.

Maybe the beheaded babe would have liked to know that before her late-night stumble through the room knocked the wax-covered plate off the bookshelf and spilled the wax all over the floor. Maybe the wax would still be close enough to come together again, even as she stepped in it and tracked it throughout her house.

Maybe the decapitated Heather didn’t really care about what happened at all.

—————

Wew, I felt VERY inspired by this image! Sorry (not sorry, actually) for such a long story! See more images for $3 a month at Patreon.com/LackingCPU

Description
The oven was preheated. The ingredients were prepared and added and mixed. Heather covered her dinner with aluminum foil and slid it into the oven. She closed the door. She set the timer for thirty minutes.

A knock rattled her door.

She looked through the peephole. A delivery driver was holding a package and a signature tablet. She opened the door, signed for the small box, and stepped into her living room with it.

”Let’s see…Division Labs? Oh, right! This got here fast!”

Heather cut open the box and dug through the bubble wrap. There it was; a jar of morphing oil. The label denoted it to be candlewax. She glanced at her oven timer. She had plenty of time to use this before her dinner would cook.

She sat down at the table and read the instructions on the label. After rereading them, she got up. She rummaged through her kitchen drawers and grabbed a few things from her bathroom. She set them all down in a somewhat haphazard pile next to her jar of oil. A vanity mirror, a few makeup brushes of various sizes, a hair tie, a couple of hair clips, a washcloth, a lighter, and her largest kitchen knife were sorted and arranged before her.

Heather adjusted the mirror until her neck was visibly centered in its reflection. She tied up her hair into a tight bun with the hair tie. She opened the jar. She grabbed her widest brush and dipped it liberally into the oil. She lathered the oil across her neck with the brush. She dipped and applied, dipped and applied, coating the circumference of her neck in a thick band over and over. After a few minutes of applications, her neck still didn’t feel wet. She tried to tilt her head to get a better look in the mirror, but her neck felt rigid and didn’t flex. Heather tilted back to see her neck in the mirror. The skin looked waxy; the oil did its job.

Heather smiled and wiped the brush on the lip of the jar, then set it on the washcloth. It was hard to look around when her neck wouldn’t turn or tilt. Her torso bent forward for her to see where the chef’s knife was.

”Now that my whole neck is candlewax, I should be able to cut through it,” she repeated to herself. “As long as the instructions are right, anyways.”

She moved her mirror again. Satisfied with her viewing angle, she picked up her knife. She held the edge to her neck and pressed the sharp edge to the middle of the waxed band of skin. There was no pain or pressure, even as she began to carve back and forth into the side of her neck. There were no sensations in her neck, even as the knife slid deeper into her body, even as she saw it slide further through her neck with each motion of the blade.

Almost perfectly halfway from the left side of her neck, she felt the blade hit something different. Heather pulled the knife out and looked at herself in the mirror. She could see through the visible gap in half of her neck to the wall behind her. But right where the gap stopped in the center of her neck was a black spot.

“Huh? What is…ooooh, that’s the wick of the candle!” Heather giggled. She lifted the knife again and notched it into her neck gap. This time, she carved away the waxed flesh around the wick from the front…then the right side…and grabbed her bun of hair with her free hand to keep her head steady as she sliced away the last bit of the back of her neck, leaving the black wick as the sole connection between her head and her body.

Heather set the knife down on the table. She stared at her nearly cleaved neck with her mirror. She slowly let go of her hair bun. Her head tilted to the side, then rolled forward in a gentle wobble. The waxed edges of her head and neck met in a single point, tilted to touch by the wick in the center that still connected them. As she barely moved, her head wobbled on her stump, not unlike a coin that wobbled on the table before it stopped spinning altogether. She laughed at herself.

“This is pretty funny,” she snarked. She intentionally shook her body. Her head rapidly gyrated. She stopped her head in both hands. “Ugh, woo, no, dizzy, too dizzy. Alright, almost done. Just need scissors.”

Heather got up. She kept a tight grip on her hair bun as she searched her kitchen drawers. Soon enough, she was back at the mirror. A simple slide put the open edges of the scissors around the highest visible point of the black wick. A few committed clenches snipped through the wick. The severed strand left Heather’s head to sway in the air from her hand-held hair.

”Ahh! Ooo-kay, woo, heheh, yes!” She set the scissors down and held her head in both hands. Heather carefully turned her head to face her body. “Oh that’s so cool.”

She was looking at her own neck stump. It was an odd but satisfying sight. Her head was obviously not there. The flat surface had the same waxed sheen as the sides of her neck. In the middle was a rope; the wick of what was now her candle neck. Heather lowered her head slowly until her hands bumped the table, then she set her head down. All she could see was her own chest, inches from her face.

”Where is the lighter? I didn’t do all of this to not light the wick!” She considered turning her head around to see where the lighter was, but realized she’d have to turn it back to see her neck to light the wick. She instead leaned forward to blindly pat down the table behind her head. Her breasts bumped into her face. Heather giggled again. She wrapped one arm behind her head and hugged her head until it was shoved between her tits and held it there while sounding out muffled laughter. She used her free hand to search the table, eventually finding the lighter.

Heather moved her head back to see her headless self clearly. She reached up to her neck. She flicked the lighter to life and held the flame to the wick. In a few seconds, the flame caught. She extinguished the lighter and stared at her candle neck. The flame burned red and flickered. She didn’t feel the heat on her neck at all. She raised a hand to the flame. “Ouch!” It was real fire, alright.

[BEEBEEBEEBEEEP! BEEBEEBEEBEEP!]

The timer for her food sounded off. She considered picking up her head, but settled on turning it on the table to face her oven. She stood her body up and walked to her kitchen. She watched and felt herself wobble. Maintaining her balance was not too difficult, but not easy. She shut off the alarm (after some struggle finding it on the counter), put on oven mitts, and got to work on removing her food.

Heather was having fun with her decapitation. She stared at her lit neck and posed for her head like a model as her food cooled. She moved her head to see what she was doing when she cut out part of her finished casserole, then moved herself back to the table to feed her head. She watched as melted wax pooled under the wick. She tilted forward; the wax flowed down her neck to the swell of her breasts. After eating, she carried her head in the crook of her arm. She walked about her home and scouted places to put her head down that would let her see her body in many places.

She didn’t know how long she wandered before seeing her food out on the counter. “Oh shoot, I have to put that away.” As she walked her body away from her head to handle covering the casserole, she notice something about her neck. It was shorter than before, surely. The flame had actually burned away quite a bit of her waxed neck.

”Huh. I wonder if that will come back on its own? I don’t remember what the instructions said. I should take another look at that.”

Heather’s body put the casserole in the fridge and closed the door. She stood up straight and waited. She was wondering what to do next. She patiently stood, wondering when her head would direct her to do something else. Curiously, she could feel some heat at the center of her neck stump.

Heather stared at her body. She wanted to walk back to her head and read the label for the oil again, but her headless body wasn’t responding to her. “Uh…why can’t I feel my body anymore?”

Headless Heather felt the fire on her wick go from warm to searing hot. She quickly swatted at the wick and smacked it. The flame blew out. She rubbed a finger and thumb together, spreading melted wax on her hand. [“can’t…see myself…”], she mused. She raised her hands until they found something she could recognize by touch.

Heather’s head watched her beheaded body act on her own. “I hope I’m still smart enough to come get me.” She bit her lower lip as she watched and hoped.

With slow pace and clumsy limbs, the decapitated Heather managed to find her way blindly out of the kitchen and back to the table. [“my head…is it still…”], she thought, patting down the table full of the items she needed to cut her head off. Her hands bumped into something. It had hair.

Heather closed her eyes as her body picked her up. She felt her hands, far removed from her control, rotate her. After nearly dropping her, Heather felt her body lower her stump onto something, lift, and lower it again. She opened her eyes and realized her body was trying to put her head back on her neck with no success.

[“not working…won’t stay…my head is…useless now”], Heather thought. She lowered her severed head and hugged it between her breasts with one arm.

”Mmm? Mhmhmmm? HMMHMMHM?!” Heather was smothered face-first in her own chest. She felt her breasts jiggle around her head as her body started to stumble around without her guidance. She barely heard the steps her body made, or whatever other noises she made as she moved and rummaged one-handed around her home.

[“might as well…make the most…of this thing”], headless Heather decided. It took some work, but she eventually had a large bowl set on the supply table. She let her head fall from her breasts to her hands, then dropped it into the bowl.

”Ow! Hey, what are you doing with me? Hello?!” She watched as her body shuffled off to the kitchen again. When she returned to her limited field of view, Heather saw she was wearing the rubber gloves she used to wash dishes. “I wish I knew what the heck you were thinking!”

[“don’t want…wax hands”], she thought. Beheaded Heather found the jar of candle oil. She lifted it over her severed head and poured the entire jar onto it. It flowed around her head and pooled in the bowl.

”HEY WHAT ARMMMM!? MMMM??? HHMMM!!!” Heather closed her mouth and eyes as the oil cascaded down her face. She heard the jar clink onto the table. She felt her gloved hands grab her and start rolling her head in the bowl. Oil coated every part of her. In rapid moments, she felt her soft cheeks and her eyelids go rigid. In moments, her whole head felt static. Her eyes and mouth wouldn’t open. After some time tumbling and rolling in the bowl, all sensations faded away. By the time she was lifted out of the bowl, even her thoughts had disappeared. Her head was transformed into an object of wax.

Heather set her former head down on the table and pulled off her gloves. She ran her hands all over the massive candle in search of the wick. [“no wick…wait…need to cut…to reveal it”] She grabbed the knife. She fumbled for a while to get her head into a good position for carving. After basically scalping the top of her candle head, she finally had a good piece of wick sticking out of the top.

[“Time to…put it somewhere…nice…”], Heather thought. She found her lighter and a plate. She scooped up her inanimate head. Her lack of a head only slowed her down from finding one of the spots she had scouted for her head less than an hour ago. She put her head on the plate and set it down on top of a bookshelf in her living room. She pulled out the lighter and lit the wick on her head. After several seconds, she realized she couldn’t see if it lit or not. She let the lighter turn off, then cautiously brought her hand close to where the flame should be. She felt heat radiating near her fingertips.

[“Good…it’s lit…very nice”]

Heather relaxed and stood there for a solid ten minutes without a care or a head in the world. Melted wax began collecting on top of her head candle and slowly spilled a stream of it to roll down her wax face. She walked away without an aim or a goal or a head, simply moving around without a sound or sight to guide or influence her.

Three hours later, with her head reduced to a disk of hard wax in a pool of melted wax, the candle would burn out. Heather took no notice. She was busy on the couch mindlessly massaging her tits. Her headless body was content with the warm feelings it gave her and wanted for nothing else.

The long-forgotten jar remained on the table. It’s warning label remained unheeded. Sure, the melted wax from her head was all on the plate, but the wax from her neck that flowed down her chest ages ago had long been rubbed off and flaked away by Heather’s incessant groping. Maybe she would be lucky and the magic would still work to bring the pieces back together.

Maybe the beheaded babe would have liked to know that before her late-night stumble through the room knocked the wax-covered plate off the bookshelf and spilled the wax all over the floor. Maybe the wax would still be close enough to come together again, even as she stepped in it and tracked it throughout her house.

Maybe the decapitated Heather didn’t really care about what happened at all.

—————

Wew, I felt VERY inspired by this image! Sorry (not sorry, actually) for such a long story! See more images for $3 a month at Patreon.com/LackingCPU